The Demon
by Mason Tims
Summary: Some evil should never be. And some evil will never die. Written for Halloween


The Demon

The area of what had once been called Huntsman's Copse was one that could only be described with words like dreary, dark, and depressing. The land was dead, with dead shrubs and dry trees the only forms of vegetation. It never rained there, but there was a fine mist that would occasionally blanket the area. However, the land was still as dry as a bone, and the water never reinvigorated the area. A few hollows called the place home, but most moved on to richer hunting grounds, if they still had the faculties to move, that was. And through this dead land, a party of undead traveled, on their way to plunder what was rumored to be the Iron Keep of the Old Iron King. As they crossed through the valley, however, each entertained second thoughts.

"So, this is spooky." Fernand whispered to no one in particular. Always talkative, the shortest member of the group was as quick with words as he was with his axe. His fiery red hair matched his attitude and energy perfectly, and his eyes, which burned green when excited, would always dance around everything that interested him. However, Fernand was not the comical jester he normally was today, and instead was mostly quiet, following the others.

"You got that right." Said the next one in line, a fellow by the name of Leonard. He was a proud mage, but used a sword as his magic catalyst. He was an incredibly intelligent individual, and was only slightly an arrogant bastard. He had very prim and proper features, with an angular face and well kept, medium length black hair. He was skilled with his sword, which was called a blue flame, and had taken fencing and sword play lessons at his college. He was no master, but he could hold his own in a sword bout, and his magic more than made up for any shortcomings of his swordplay. He was just as put off by the place as Fernand was, and kept his complaining and talk to a minimum.

The third man in the line was a stoic warrior named Brin. He did not speak much, but made up for this with his bald, scared head, massive frame, and halberd that looked like it could shatter rock in one swing. He had joined the party in Majula, before the group had sacked the old fort and killed the beasts within. It was his halberd that finished both the Pursuer and the Last Giant, earning him both fear and respect from his companions. He was the only one who did not seemed phased by his surroundings, and plodded on with no hesitation.

The fourth, a mousy boy by the name of Flinn, was by far the youngest of the group, and was only along because of his talent with casting miracles. He apparently had been a student at the Temples of Lindelt when his talent emerged. Had he stayed, he would have been a prodigy. However, while at the monastery, he had earned the gaze of an old priest, who had an attraction for younger boys. After the encounter, the priest became paranoid and stabbed the boy in his sleep, leading to the boy's discovery of being undead. He was small, with blond hair that was cropped the same way around his head, so that his hair formed a helmet. Soft blue eyes constantly peaked from beneath, and he spoke with a soft but youthful tone. He was perhaps the most shaken by his surroundings, and kept close to the man leading them, nearly stepping on him a few times.

The man in question strode at the head of the group, head swaying, always searching for danger. His name was Frederic, and he had been a knight of Mirrah before being branded with the mark of the undead. Since then, he came to Drangliec and harvested souls in an attempt to grow stronger and stave off the curse. He kept himself well groomed, despite his surroundings, and always had his hair cut short and face clean shaven. He wielded a greatsword and shield, and used them with deadly proficiency. Looking at him, many got the sense that, if there were to be only one survivor of a great battle, it would be him.

Each had different reasons for coming to Drangleic, but they all had the same one for going through this barren wasteland in an attempt to try and get to the Iron Keep. As legends had it, after the keep sank into the earth, a powerful spirit came to inhabit the remnants of the structure, destroying any who came to close. This, to the undead, only meant that the beast must have a glorious number of souls, enough to keep them sated for a very long time.

And so they found themselves in this dark, creepy place, unaware that they were not the only ones hunting for souls.

…..

They had been traveling for an hour, crossing through the dead forest cautiously, killing any undead they came across. Each one they faced fell easily, as it was five experienced warriors against one mindless berserker at a time. Things had been going well until they reached a bridge activated by a lever. After a short misadventure0, they found and activated the old contraption and brought the massive bridge down, crossing quickly. Once across, they were faced with a choice. On the left, a bridge that lead to an exposed Cliffside. On the right, a cave that produced no light, and might not go all the way across to the other side of the ravine that lay in the middle of the two.

"I am NOT going in that cave." Leonard said to no one in particular, yet echoed the sentiment of them all.

"Agreed. Fernand, you're in front." Frederic said, immediately eliciting a protest from the nervous warrior. Raising a hand, Frederic quickly reasoned, "You have a shield and short sword. With as little space as there is, no one else is better suited than you."

"Fine." The warrior whispered, angry and nervous. Raising his shield, he led the group along the cliff side, skewering any hollows that got in their way and pushing them off. They had been going along without incident, and things were starting to lighten up a little, when they all felt the familiar sensation.

This sensation was not just one, but multiple at the same time: Your hair stands on end, a pit forms in your stomach, you are suddenly nervous, as if there is some hidden predator that you are not seeing. It all came together to mean one thing; somebody had invaded their world from another realm.

It had happened a couple of times to them, and it always turned out the same. It was some desperate fool who thought that they could overpower undead in a different world, because theirs were too strong. Each time, the group had been able to defeat them rather easily with teamwork and raw power. However, they had been invaded once by a man claiming to be from the Brotherhood of Blood, a disgusting and terrifying guild whose sole purpose was to invade the worlds of weaker undead and gain their souls in a ritual to see who was strongest. He had eventually fallen, but not before mortally wounding Fernand and Leonard, and slicing open Flinn's leg pretty badly.

And now they were invaded on a cliff side, where teamwork would not avail them anything.

Ahead of them, from a small door way set in the mountain, emerged the invader in question. She was tall, easily reaching six feet. Her clothes consisted of a large, baggy, bloodstained poncho that reached her shins and a strange, disturbed mask. The mask in question had multiple horns that jutted out from top to bottom and curled in the air. However, the most menacing thing about her was the scythe she carried. The handle was made of a black material that resembled ebony, but seemed stronger, somehow. The head, however, was made of bone that seemed to have been conjoined together, melted into place, and then sharpened into an evil fang. It was splattered with blood, and the back of it had a saw-like edge. Looking at it, the group's general consensus was that it looked to be something created by the devil himself.

"You poor fools." The thing hissed, chilling them to the bone. As she spoke, she walked towards them, the scythe slowly swinging in front of her. "You will all die. Slowly, and then I, Roenna of the Brotherhood of Blood, will feast on your souls."

As she approached, a very distinctive silver glow surrounded her body. The group knew that this meant that she was an extremely powerful member of the Brotherhood of Blood, as they had researched the group in Majula after the first attack. The group, upon seeing this and realizing the depth of their error, started to retreat.

"You can't run." She whispered loud enough for them to hear, her presence getting even more menacing every moment. They, of course, knew she was right. They would not be able to move fast enough along the narrow path to get away from her. And yet, they could not fight either, as the scythe would rip them apart. They had no options, and no way to win.

And then it happened.

As the Roenna started to close the distance, the feeling of being invaded again came to each of them. And yet, this time, it was different. It still carried the feelings associated with the woman's invasion, but it was much more poignant. The fear they had felt more justified, not just simple nervousness but outright terror in their hearts. The thing felt, in a word, wrong.

Roenna seemed to feel it as well, and immediately turned to face the unfamiliar, dark energy that radiated from the doorway from which she herself emerged. Though the mask covered her face, the group could feel the unease radiating off of her like a powerful stench, which only served to scare them more.

It seemed as if the entire world held its collective breath and watched as a figure walked out of the doorway, bearing a dark sword on its hip, and nothing in its hands. Its armor resembled dark and decayed bone, and beneath its hood, the shape of a skull could be seen. The invader, for that was what it surely was, did not have a visible aurora around it. Instead, it projected a veritable assault on the other senses; a rotting, dead stench, a high pitched ringing, suddenly moist, sweaty skin, and an overwhelming sense of dread.

The figure, walking towards them, seemed wrong and dark.

"Is that…" Leonard asked quietly, not bothering to finish the question. Whatever it was, it crossed the path slowly and easily, in no way threatened.

"You there!" Roenna yelled, breaking out of her trance. She needed these souls in order to please her master, and would be damned if she let another take them from her. "These ones are mine. Go get your scraps elsewhere."

The thing paid no heed, and continued walking. Now more angry than fearful, Roenna met the beast, swinging her scythe from the side, intending to cut the creature in half.

The thing simply stepped forward, past the blade. Reacting quickly, the woman swung at the monster, with a blow that was so strong from the souls she had collected that it could easily have shattered stone.

The invader simply stepped aside, allowing the blow to sail by. Jumping back, Roenna again slashed, the blade of the scythe carrying enough force to split a tree in half and fast enough that it was merely a blur.

The invader took a casual step back, avoiding it entirely.

Enraged, Roenna lifted her scythe and slashed down with all of her force, intending to split the monster in two.

The monster didn't move this time. Instead, he lifted his hand and stopped the scythe, grabbing the point of it with inhuman speed. Roenna tried to pull back and swing, but the scythe would not budge. Though her own strength was substantial, the scythe may as well have been set in granite.

The creature then moved with blinding speed, seizing the woman by the throat and pushing her over the edge, holding her there effortlessly. Then, he used his left hand to rip the mask from her face, revealing an old, wrinkled crone. Roenna was shocked. She had never been beaten this easily, and refused to give up her claim to the group of walking cattle that she had invaded.

"They are MINE!" She managed to choke out, the grip on her throat like iron.

The thing did not speak, but instead raised its right hand, which had started to glow with a dark energy. The skeleton then moved its hand forward until it gripped the back of the woman's head, its fingers wrapped and tangled in the woman's hair. It then brought her in close to its face, the woman's struggles a moot point. It looked almost as if it were a lover's embrace, how they were positioned with him leaning over her. But then, the woman's eyes grew wide and her mouth opened in a silent scream of terror. Something was happening to her. Pieces that were holding her soul together were suddenly shattered like glass. Her appearance changed, her skin seemed to shrink to the bone, muscle and fat disappearing as if they were never there, the skin left to lay in taught wrinkles against the frail bone. . A soft glow escaped from the woman and flowed into the monster, and with it, who she was and would ever be. She felt as if she was being drained of her very essence. Which, in more ways than one, she was.

When she was nothing but a withered husk, and the glow ceased to come from her, he dropped her in the ravine without a second thought, not even glancing back in her direction as she fell and was dashed apart by the rocks below.

The warriors, who had regained their senses during the monster's 'meal', had fled down the narrow path, making a beeline for the caves. They were moving so fast that Frederick ended up carrying Flinn most of the way, sprinting as fast as they could, almost always teetering off of the edge of the cliff. Upon finally reaching the caves, the group paused, looking back to see how far away the creature was.

It was on the bridge, about ten yards away.

Each member jumped back, surprised that the monster was able to cover the distance so quickly. The creature, still with no sword drawn, walked forward, ill intent obvious through its body language and stride. It had only seemed to grow darker since it had devoured the invader, and the aurora it produced was even more powerful. It was as if the creature was a personification of dread itself.

Faced with fighting the monster now, or having it hunt them down in the caves, Frederic made the decision to draw his sword and faced the beast. The rest of the group followed suit, standing together against the monster, hoping that their strength in numbers would prevail.

The monster's stride did not even falter.

"Guys, we must leave. Now!" Leonard whispered urgently, edging towards the cave. He seemed even more nervous and afraid than everyone else, and Frederic realized that the man knew what this thing was.

"What is this thing, Leonard?" Frederic barked, preparing to signal for the attack on the monster.

"It can't be one of them. They are supposed to be extinct, killed off by the great saint." The mage's voice came as a whisper. For a moment, he just stared at the creature, some realization dawning upon him. Then, with not one look back, he ran into the caves, deaf to the calls of his allies.

Now it was four against one.

Removing Leonard from his mind, Frederic again faced the beast. It still hadn't drawn its sword, and he realized that this was likely the best time to attack. He signaled to the others, insuring they all knew what was going to happen, before leaping forward and slashing, his three compatriots in tow.

They slashed, they stabbed, and they smashed. They tried everything. Frederic and Brin both two handed their respective weapons for greater power and speed, Fernand switched to his sword to slash the beast, and Flinn prepared a lightning bolt that would turn the monster into soup.

The monster did not seem to care. He either moved out of the way of the blows or let them hit, never flinching. He constantly moved forward, pushing the group more and more towards the cave.

Frederic slashed from the right, his large claymore whistling through the air, smashing into the creature. Though the large sword could tear through steel with ease, it did not even dent the monster's armor. Before Frederic knew what was happening, the creature slapped his chest, propelling him into the cave and out of sight. Brin, seeing his leader fall, roared and unleashed with his halberd, swinging the massive weapon directly down, intending to bury it into the monster's head. The thing moved his arm with speed and force that did not seem possible, and simply slapped the blade to the side, sending it to the ground before grabbing Brin, picking him up, and slamming him down head first into the ground, his head splitting open with a sickening crack.

When the beast turned to finish off Brin, Fernand saw an opportunity. Dropping his shield, he lunged forward, his sword held in two hands, intending to run it through the monster's back. He felt a clang, and at first thought that he had succeeded.

The monster had grabbed his sword, stopping it. At the same moment, Flinn released his lightning bolt.

The creature moved with sudden, inhuman speed, snatching Fernand from the ground and putting him in the direct path of the lightning bolt. There was a blinding flash and colossal boom, stunning the entire party.

Flinn, being the farthest away from the blast, was the first to recover, coming back to his senses slowly but surely. Opening his eyes, he saw the creature standing in the middle of the downed warriors, holding the charred body of Fernand in one hand. Fernand's mouth was aglow, and a thick white river of translucent energy cascaded into the monster's open hand. The beast then let go, the husk of Fernand falling to the ground.

Suddenly, the boy was being dragged away as the beast focused on Brin, who had started to get to his feet. His last view of the action was of Brin screaming and swinging his massive halberd at the beast.

…..

When he awoke again, Flinn found himself in the cave, a soft glowing light hanging in the corner. He felt as if he had been hit with a boulder, and sat up slowly. On the other side of the room he was in, he could see Leonard sitting on the ground, arms around his knees. Flinn was about to call out to him when a hand grasped his shoulder. Flinn involuntarily jumped away before seeing Frederic in the soft light.

"Frederic, thank the gods!" Flinn said quietly, hope reaching his heart for the first time since Roenna had invaded. As the man helped the boy to his feet, Flinn asked, "What happened? And by the gods, what is that unholy abomination out there?"

"That, poor child, is a darkwraith." Leonard said from across the room. This caused them both to stop in their tracks, looking at Leonard wide eyed, mouths aghast. They had, of course, heard the legends. Legends of once proud and noble men that had surrendered their very being to the darkness in order to gain the power to steal the life from people. However, in the legends, they had all been killed by an un-named saint, only known as the Warrior of the Sun.

"That's not possible." Flinn said defiantly, refusing to accept it. "They were all killed, and even if they hadn't, they would be thousands of years old! Nothing could survive that long."

Leonard looked at the boy with empty, sad eyes before replying, "Undead can, if they have purpose and can get the souls."

"But…" Flinn could say nothing else, too shocked by the revelation. Then he realized that they were in the cave, and the darkwraith was chasing them. He then looked around terrified that the monster could be right behind him.

Realizing what he was thinking, Frederic put his hand on Flinn's shoulder, stopping him. "Relax Flinn, he can't get in. We collapsed the cave."

"What?" Flinn exclaimed, surprised.

"We didn't get a choice." Frederic said quietly, explaining slowly. "I had just dragged you back in, and it was doing… that thing to Brin. Leonard was right there, so I told him to collapse the cave. There has to be another entrance here. If we can get to it, we can get out of here."

Flinn calmed down, and then he remembered Fernand and Brin. "What about Brin and Fernand? They will be defenseless out there!"

He was met with silence, and he realized that he did not know something. "What is it?"

"They are dead, Flinn." Leonard said remorsefully.

"What do you mean, they'll just come back like normal!" Flinn said, confused.

Leonard quietly shook his head before explaining. "No Flinn. When a darkwraith grabs you, he steals your humanity. Your life force. When that happens, you either are destroyed utterly or go hollow. Whichever way it goes with undead, our friends are gone."

Flinn didn't speak. He had so much going through his mind at the moment. He was heartbroken that he would never see his friends again, he was scared now that the possibility of going hollow was so prevalent, and he was terrified that the darkwraith would get in, somehow. The others apparently shared the sentiment, and it wasn't long before they were all up and moving through the cave, ever vigilant for hollows.

There was no light in the cave, except for the dim orb hovering above the group. It's glow reached only a few yards around the group, and the men knew that things were hiding in the darkness, watching them. They could feel the hunger of the unseen gazes, and their drive to feed upon the undead. However, something held them back. It was almost as if the hollows were afraid. Mindless hollows, with no sense of self preservation, were afraid of attacking the group.

They pressed on, unease flowing through them and making them quicken their stride. As they rounded a corner, they saw the thing that they had been searching for: Daylight. Moving quickly, they each jogged down the narrow pathway before reaching what had used to be an exit with a bridge connecting to the other side of the ravine, but now connected to nothing more than air.

Disappointed, they were going to head back into the cave when Leonard noticed something.

"Look at these holes." He said, pointing to the shallow holes about seven feet off of the ground. They were a couple of inches deep, and in sets of five. The pattern showed two sets, alternating until they reached the ceiling, and disappearing into the dark. On a hunch, Leonard poked his head out and looked to the left.

The holes stretched from the destroyed cave entrence, as if something had clawed its way over to the opening. Something powerful enough to destroy stone with just its fingers.

Realization dawned upon them. Looking back, into the deep abyss of the cave the sense of foreboding flowed through them as surely as the blood in their veins.

The darkwraith was in there, somewhere.

Waiting.

And as they walked back in, it seemed, somehow, darker.

…..

They proceeded through the cave, marking pathways that they had already gone down by scratching the cave wall with a dagger. The sounds had almost completely stopped, and the only noise was the group's footfalls and the heavy beating of their hearts. To Flinn, it seemed like his heart beat would be able to be heard for miles, and he constantly tried to quiet it down, to no avail.

It was a few minutes into the cave when they heard it.

Initially, Flinn thought that it was just some rocks falling. But then, he heard it again. And again. A slow rhythm of rocks dropping onto the ground. Like something was crawling towards them. Signaling the others, he had them listen until they heard it. They both drew their weapons and looked around, hoping to find where it was coming from. Leonard cast the light further ahead, searching for anything that could give them any indication of the darkwraith's position.

Silence.

They cast the light to the left.

Silence.

Behind them.

Silence.

To the right of them.

Silence.

The group's enhanced senses stretched everywhere, listening for the slightest sound.

Flinn felt some pebbles hit his shoulder. When they hit the ground, the entire group stared at it, hoping against hope that it didn't mean what they knew it would.

They cast the light directly above them.

The creature stared down at them, the holes in its skull containing nothing but a blackness that the light dared not touch.

It all happened in the same moment. The darkwraith let go of the ceiling, plummeting down. In the same moment, the group took off, sprinting for all they were worth down the path.

The darkwraith did not walk this time. It covered the distance with no problem.

The group saw light ahead. Then the entrance. It was ten yards from them.

It may as well have been ten thousand.

He knew what he had to do. The creature would reach them before they got to the exit, dooming them all to die in the cave. It was a strange feeling, knowing that you were making the choice to die for the slim chance that others might live. However, the finality of it gave Frederic a sense of calm.

Reaching forward, he shoved with all of his might, speeding up Leonard and Flinn as he came to a stop and faced the beast barreling down for them. He didn't look back as he heard Flinn and Leonard scramble on and exit the cave. Instead he drew his sword, ready.

The darkwraith slowed to a stop two yards from him, its sightless gaze betraying nothing. The only sound that could be heard was Federic's breathing.

Screaming, Frederic attacked the beast, slashing and stabbing with reckless fervor. The beast dodged back, and Frederic could not tell if it was toying with him or not.

As he slashed at the darkwraith's side, the thing grabbed his blade from the air and ripped it from his hands. It then put two hands on the blade and bent it until it snapped in half.

Now weaponless, Frederic launched himself into the darkwraith, smashing a fist into the skull. He swung again, and again.

The creature seized Frederic's chest and smashed him into the cave wall, knocking the wind out of him. The dark wraith then took the broken point of the sword he still held and stabbed it into Frederic's stomach. He then twisted and slashed left, cutting through the liver. He then sliced up, severing the intestines, stomach, gallbladder, and one lung. Frederic made no sound, his mouth open in silent agony.

His vision clouded, growing darker and darker. He didn't know that he was passing out from bloodloss and shock, or of the hand closing upon his face. Perhaps mercifully, he was unconscious before the process began.

His last thought was hope for Flinn and Leonard.

…..

They never stopped running. Though Flinn wanted to, he could not stop. Every cell in his body screamed at him to keep running. They sprinted around the cliff, back to the same path that they had first encountered the darkwraith. They almost slipped off a couple of different times, but never slowed. They made it to the bridge.

The corpses of Brin and Fernand were at the base of the destroyed entrances. It was as if all the moisture and muscle had been sapped from them, rendering nothing more than literal skin and bone.

And still they did not slow. They sprinted over the barren, dead land, trying desperately to get back to Majula, their salvation.

They heard the thudding of the darkwraith's feet on the final stretch of path between the copse and the room with the switch. The switch that would cut off the path. The switch that would save their lives.

Thirty yards.

The darkwraith was fifty away.

Twenty yards.

The darkwraith was thirty away

Ten yards.

The darkwraith was fifteen yards away.

At five, Flinn leapt inside, hitting the switch on the way down.

Leonard tripped.

Flinn lay on the ground, exhausted. He watched through half closed eyes as the door closed. He saw Leonard crawling desperately towards the closing path, his eyes wide in terror. The door closed just as his fingertips touched the stone. He pounded against the door, begging for Flinn to open the door.

And then he screamed. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

And then nothing at all.

…..

Flinn didn't know how long he laid on the ground. He only knew pain. His throat seared in pain, and his lungs burned. He was exhausted and in shock. He had lost his only friends in the world, right in front of his eyes. If he wasn't so tired, he would be afraid of how he would make it through the world alone. He would feel guilt about being the one survivor. And he would feel fear that the creature might come back.

But he didn't feel anything other than pain at that moment.

Eventually, he made it to his feet, and slowly limped up the stairs to Majula. He had to lean against the wall for support, his feet and legs threatening to buckle with every step. His hands dragged along the rough wall, the rocks cutting them and imbedding gravel inside.

When he finally reached the top of the stairs, the sight took his breath away.

It was dusk. That was his first clue that something was wrong. The sun, in all the time that he had been in Majula, had never, ever set. As he stumbled towards the bonfire, the silence was deafening. There was no wind, no hammer blows against the anvil, no talking.

No life.

There wasn't anybody left. There was no sign of struggle that he could see. Everyone had simply disappeared, with not a single trace. He was completely alone.

And, as he walked to the center of the town, he saw the unthinkable. The one source of life was dead and cold, with no life left.

The bonfire had faded away.

He fell to his knees in the ashes, defeated. Tears streamed down his face, streaking through the dirt and dust.

It was an hour before he felt the presence again.

The dark aurora clouded around him like a stink, a herald of the creature he knew was in front of him. Bring his gaze upward, he saw the creature, with fresh blood on its hands. The armor seemed to eat away the light, leaving only the color of dull, dark bone.

He would die now. He didn't know what would come after, but he knew, in this moment, his life had come to an end. He wouldn't fight. He would surrender, and be destroyed.

"Or…"

**And that is why Darkwraiths are not in Dark Souls 2. As always, thank you to Leider Hosen for the assist, and thank you for reading. Also, Shadows, by Tragedy Machine, captures the essence of darkwraiths and invaders quite well, and i recommend a listen.**


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